


Magic of Christmas

by Cirilla9



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Comfort/Angst, Family Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/Cirilla9
Summary: Little Curufin discovers some unpleasant truths





	Magic of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even like Modern AUs but this idea was born about a year ago and I’m posting it before the magic date will pass again.  
> Rereading and editing it proved that I didn’t include Maglor. So you can imagine either one of those:  
> a) He’s there, just staying silent  
> b) He’s at some music boarding school  
> c) He’s at Woodstock  
> Actually it’s set on 24th of December but there is Santa Claus so…  
> (just let me give you an advice: don’t analyze it too closely from reasons’ POV)

Tyelko approached Curufin, who looked positively upset.

“What’s the matter with you? It’s Christmas. You were hardly the most happy of my brothers but even Moryo let go of his constant scowl for a moment. You should be happy for all the presents you’re gonna get.”

“That’s exactly why I’m sour,” Curufin looked around the room suspiciously, the rest of their brothers was nowhere in sight, their parents could be heard in the kitchen next door. Nobody was paying the two of them any attention but Curufin lowered his voice conspiringly anyway. “I think Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

“He he,” Celegorm’s laugh was a bit strained. “Why? Kids on the playground told you stuff?”

“No, look, I did the math.”

And the youngest Feanorian proceeded to show complicated calculations to his stunned brother. He explained the numbers with passion greater than Tyelko’s math professor but Celegorm still didn’t get much of it.

“If we accept that there is 7,6 billion people in the world, of which 27% are children, and to drop a present through the chimney at estimated reindeers’ speed of 60km/h would take 1 to 2 minutes (and the total surface of lands on Earth is 149mln km2), then it still gives over a billion children without presents! Santa Claus isn’t able to physically reach all of them.”

“Take it away from me. You think you’re talking to Moryo? Or Nelyo? Even twins in mom’s belly would understand more from it than I do.”

“You are avoiding answering.”

“You never asked me a question.”

“I laid out the thesis for a discussion.”

“I swear to God, kid. Why am I even putting up with you.”

“A-”

“Listen, brat. You get presents every Christmas, right?”

“Right, but-”

“Though I’d say you should get a rod* not once. Anyway Santa Claus’ bringing them. Who else?”

“I don’t know. Maybe…”

“Dad says it’s Santa. Since when you doubt his word?”

Celegorm didn’t expect this usually discussion ending argument to have exactly the counter effect to the one he intended. His little brother’s fists clenched, the look of brokenness crept on his face and tears gleamed in his eyes.

“This is exactly the point! You think he could deceive us? He wouldn’t… right?”

At this moment “Santa Claus” came. Fëanor and Nerdanel, and Maedhros who joined them from the upstairs all pretended surprised, amazed, unaware people. But Curufin with his sharp eyes and bright mind inherited after his father, under the carefully glued beard and bushy eyebrows, saw the truth and with it the utter treachery. For under all these Christmas appendages Curufin recognized his grandpa’s features.

Without a word, he rushed upstairs, toward his room before anyone could notice his tears. A loud bang of the doors slammed shut that came a moment later resounded clearly in the complete silence that has fallen in the living room.

They all looked shocked and glanced at each other in puzzlement. All besides Celegorm who wore a rather angry expression.

Nerdanel, hand on her round belly, run up the stairs after her child.

“What happened?” Finwë asked, wrinkling presents’ bag in his hands.

“I have no idea,” Fëanor said. “I thought he’d-”

“Dad,” Celegorm stood with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

 

The gentle knock sounded from his doors.

“Curvo?” Nerdanel’s soft voice came next.

Curufin laid curled up in a ball in his bed and didn’t answer.

Nerdanel repeated knocking. Pressed the handle. The doors were shut.

“Go away, mom,” muttered muffled voice from the room.

Nerdanel stood a while longer, hesitant.

“I’ll go if that’s your wish, son,” she said finally. There was no point in asking what happened with the barrier of the doors between them. “I just want you to know we’ll all be waiting for you. Join us as soon as you will, dear.”

No one answered. She returned downstairs slower. She expected Fëanor rushing to her, questioning about his favorite son, berating her for running in her state but in the room were only her father-in-law and a few of her sons.

“Where did Tyelko and Fëanor go?”

 “I believe Tyelko got some information why Curvo freaked out,” Madhros said thoughtfully.

“Language, son,” Nerdanel chastised automatically.

“Sorry. He appeared to know why Curvo acted like that.”

“He always knows,” Moryo muttered.

“And I think he’s gonna tell dad the reason.”

“Now that’s new,” Moryo put in in the same grim tone. He looked around the room with brows knitted together. “So what? We’ll all be waiting here in boredom until the drama plays out? Can’t we open our presents or-”

“No. You will wait for your brother to join us,” Nerdanel cut in a voice that no one in the house of Fëanor argued with. “Christmas are a time for being together.”

“Great.”

 

* * *

 

 

“But how did he find out?” Fëanor asked, looking genuinely confused.

“Dad, he’s your son. He’s basically the smaller copy of you. What did you expect? That he wouldn’t recognize his own grandpa?”

“But he’s so young… I discussed it with your mother. We thought it’ll be a good idea. It was especially for him, because he’s the youngest for now before your next brothers will be born. I was sure he believes in Santa Claus yet. I believed until mom died. I thought he would think it true until he goes to primary school at least…”

“You assumed wrong.”

“I would never do anything to cause him worry.” Fëanor looked so lost and honest that Celegorm deflated a bit and sat on the drawn chair next to him rather than keep standing leaned on the table, looming over his dad.

“I did not say that,” he said. “Heh, he’s just too smart for his own good. Y’know, he shoved at me mathematical calculation today. He counted in details how many houses Santa Claus would be able to visit one night and how many children would he miss. That kid would probably figure it out without grandpa playing dress up. It just tipped the scale.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Atarinkë?”

Not his preferred name but this time it was his father’s voice who said it. Curufin sat up on his bed and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

“Yeah?” he hoped the state of his voice didn’t reflect his crying child looks.

“May I enter?”

Fëanor heard shuffling sound from the inside, quick steps and then the doors creaked open. Curufin turned away quickly and went to the window, standing with his back to the rest of the room.

Fëanor went inside, locking the doors behind him. He didn’t call Curufin closer and he deliberately didn’t look at his son’s red eyes reflected in the glass.

“I believe I ought you an apology.” Fëanor said at last.

Curufin whirled around, with a spark of accusation in his eyes that cut Fëanor’s soul deeper than any shouts from growing up Tyelko and Moryo combined could.

Curufin took in a breath.

“Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

He said it as an indication but it sounded like a question and he looked at his father for confirmation with all the belief that a child places in his parents.

“Yes.”

Curufin’s lips trembled.

“You lied to me.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I-” Fëanor, the master of words, the silver tongued orator, stuttered. “I wanted to make you happy.”

“By lying to me?”

“By painting the world a nicer place than it is. To show you good can be rewarded, to give you all the gifts you deserve. To make each Christmas a magical event for you… ah, I should have never underestimated you the way I did. I thought you’d believe in this, harmless as I thought, lie for a few years longer. But you’re too smart for children stories. Of course you are. You’re my genius son. I will never underrate your intellect ever again.”

Somewhere in the middle of his speech Curufin turned to face the window once more but by his posture Fëanor could tell he was listening. Now he came closer to his son, stood behind his back and reached to the glass surface with his hand to block the light from the room and see the night sky better.

“Is there a first star already?” he asked.

“There is,” Curufin, head raised up, pointed out with his finger, “the Evening Star, the first visible just after sunset, and the brightest. Though, to be exact, it’s not a star, it’s a planet.”

Fëanor smiled.

“You’re truly the smartest of my children, Curufinwë.”

“They aren’t making great competition,” Curufin mumbled.

Fëanor stifled a chuckle with a cough.

“You shouldn’t talk like that about your older brothers. Now let’s go to the dinner, shall we? Don’t make them wait any longer if they can’t tell a planet from the star as it is. And to unwrap the presents. Maybe they’re from your grandpa and not Santa Claus but I’m certain he cares about your happiness equally strong, if not more, than a fairy tale creature.”

**Author's Note:**

> *what does Santa Claus give to rude children in your countries? I can’t find the accurate translation of “rózga” anywhere :/


End file.
